From Safety ToWhere?
by heartsways
Summary: Five times Emma and Regina avoid things and one time they don't. Based on an amalgamation of prompts from my amazeballs followers on tumblr. Set after their return from Neverland, Emma and Regina have embarked on…well, something.
1. 1 - All The Errors And Mistakes

**Title:** From Safety To…Where?  
**Author: **heartsways  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Fandom: **Once Upon A Time  
**Pairing:** Regina/Emma  
**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
**Summary: ** Five times Emma and Regina avoid things and one time they don't. Based on an amalgamation of prompts from my amazeballs followers on tumblr. Set after their return from Neverland, Emma and Regina have embarked on…well, something.

**Chapter 1: All The Errors And Mistakes**

Regina sleeps, like she does everything else, neatly. She's on her side, one hand tucked beneath her pillow, the other flat out on the sheets beside her body. In repose, her skin is smooth and unlined, lacking the scorn that so often typifies her demeanor and contorts her features into a mask of derision and anger. It's deceptive and Emma can't help wondering if Regina knows; if Regina's even aware of how uncommonly beautiful she is when the world isn't weighing her down and forcing her to fight, to scratch tooth and nail for every single inch of ground she covers and possesses.

Emma rests her head onto one hand and leans over Regina, listening to the steady breathing of the other woman and trying to parse out exactly how they got here. But it's a road less traveled by both of them and a journey that neither woman thought they'd ever make, much less with one another as a companion. It's easy – _easier_ – to imagine that this way, the way _normal_ people live can be a destination for them, rather than a way station where they can hide from the realities outside.

"You're staring."

Emma blinks and pulls in a tiny little gasp as Regina's voice slices through the quiet around them.

"I thought you were asleep," she says, frowning.

"And I thought you weren't staying the night," comes the response, as cold and dark as the night outside.

Emma wants to throw back a witty reposte but finds herself silenced. She's not really sure by _what_, considering that whatever exists between she and Regina has always been founded in the back and forth of verbal battle. There was a time when it was a physical battle, too; a time when words failed them and emotions were simply too heightened and overwhelming to limit themselves to language. She shifts in the bed and winces slightly as her limbs ache suddenly, skin taut over a painful area on her thigh that she's sure will be a bruise by tomorrow. Not _all_ the physicality has disappeared, she reminds herself with a wry smile, it's just been channeled into something…_different_. Something that neither of them is willing to define or even examine.

Maybe that's for the best, Emma sighs to herself, and pulls at the sheet as Regina opens her eyes and gazes at her. There's a darkness to her gaze that seems to make even the shadows of the room flee under its intensity.

But Emma doesn't run. She _hasn't_ run, not since they started this whole thing and leaving became less of an option than it ever was. Sometimes she catches Regina looking curiously at her, like she's some sort of new species caught beneath a microscope. It used to make her nervous. Now Emma knows it's Regina's way of challenging her into submission. Which, given the previous few hours, where a queen was held captive in the strong grasp of a savior, is kind of laughable these days.

"Well?"

"Well,** what**?" Emma's eyebrows rise and she can't help grinning at the faint twitch of Regina's mouth, the hardening of her lips and the way her eyes darken to a rather more stony glare. Ever since they returned from Neverland, Emma's been purposefully confrontational because Regina's not the enemy anymore. Throwing out bait and watching as Regina snatches it has become a game they like to play but it lacks the heavy, portentous threats of before.

_And that's what happens when you're forced to work together_, Emma thinks wryly. That's what happens when you realize your son is more important than anything you take for yourself or points you might score against the opposing team.

Regina makes an irritated sound low in her throat and rises from the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. Emma resists the urge to roll her eyes as Regina tilts her chin, brazen and aware of how utterly perfect her body is, how the sensuous curves and dips of her form speak of a sensuality that she uses like a weapon. Emma vaguely remembers how it used to intimidate her, but that feeling seems dreamlike in her memory because she still has the taste of Regina on her tongue, still feels the heat of the other woman's body on her own and can still hear the faint cries of climax in her ears.

There's something to be said for physicality, after all, Emma thinks. She moves closer under the covers, her foot brushing casually against Regina's. The other woman jerks away and glares at Emma with renewed ferocity, her lip curling.

"Don't mistake this for something it isn't," Regina literally snarls, and now she clutches the sheet and draws it up around her body, pulling on it so vigorously that Emma's left half-naked on the bed.

"Oh, believe me," Emma mutters, "I know what **this** is."

"I sincerely doubt that," Regina sighs. Then she smiles, teeth bared like a predator, gleaming in the scant light from the window. "Did you think we were going to fall asleep in one another's arms and wake in the morning to find we'd also fallen in love, too?"

There's no mistaking the mocking tone of her voice, nor is there any doubt in Emma's mind that this is Regina's coping mechanism. Because behind the forced smile, behind the supercilious gaze directed her way, there's the unmistakable glitter of fear. It's sharp-edged and prickly, turning from defense to offense in the time it takes for Emma to draw breath and push out a brittle laugh.

"If this is your version of pillow talk, it needs a **hell **of a lot of work, Regina," she says, turning her face away to hide the disappointment that Emma knows is tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I don't indulge in pillow talk, dear," Regina answers smartly. "You've served your purpose and I don't want you here when Henry wakes up in the morning, so I suggest you leave."

"Served my purpose?" Emma repeats incredulously, darting forwards in the darkness towards Regina. She's somewhat consoled by the way that Regina recoils, scrambling backwards as far as the bed will let her. Now that the Savior has magic, she's a far more worthy and intimidating opponent for an Evil Queen who can't quite leave her throne behind and face this brand new world with more humility and grace than a monarch should ever have to display.

"What the **fuck**, Regina?" Emma blurts out, even though she knows Regina says these things on purpose to goad her. She supposes that getting a reaction is something neither of them can truly stop wanting from the other. It's what tells them that they matter – to one another if not to themselves. "What am I, some kind of stud horse or something?"

"Well, they **do** say it's all about the breeding," Regina pretends to muse, and there's a flicker of a smile about her mouth as Emma lets out a frustrated grunt. "Even with **your** family background."

"And what's **that** supposed to mean?"

"Your father was a shepherd."

"So? Your mother was a – "

A hand darts out, clamping over Emma's mouth and halting whatever damning description was forthcoming. Emma can feel Regina's fingers tremble slightly against her skin, see the way the other woman emerges out of the darkness and looks at her reproachfully, blame flaring in the glitter of a pained, regretful expression.

"You don't talk about her. You don't **ever** talk about her. Is that clear, Miss Swan?"

Emma nods dumbly and Regina's hand whispers away from her mouth. Gathering the sheets around her once more, Regina settles back onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling, shadowed and indistinct.

"My mother is not a topic up for discussion. I don't know what you were expecting from this…this **dalliance** between us, but spooning and talking about how you weren't hugged enough as a child is out of the question."

Emma can hear the wobble in Regina's voice, how the other woman is trying so very hard to contain all the turmoil within. She remembers how, in Neverland, Regina asked her for help and how that didn't come easily. It crosses her mind that Regina might never ask her for anything again; how what exists between them might only be verbalized in demands that remain, as they do, under the cover of night.

It's not nearly good enough. It's not, Emma clenches her back teeth together and clenches one of her hands into a fist, really anything at all.

Sliding beneath the sheet, Emma throws a leg over Regina's hips and straddles the other woman. As her hands plant down onto either side of Regina's head, Emma ignores the noise of indignation she hears and instead leans down so that she can look directly into a pair of eyes that open wide beneath her.

"I wasn't hugged **at all** as a child," Emma growls softly, "so how about we quit the chit-chat and do something else instead?"

She grinds down with her hips and is gratified to hear the moan it induces from Regina's mouth. Barely a second later, the body beneath her own is moving, pelvis circling, breasts rising and falling more quickly in anticipation of something that's safe territory for them both. Because words can only say so much. Bodies, mouths, fingertips…they can communicate far more than mere language can allow. It's kind of like magic, Emma thinks at the back of her mind; kind of like the strength they both show when they're not even really thinking about it. And it's so, _so_ much better than words and explanations and all the things this world demands from them.

"What do you have in mind?" Regina asks, her voice heavy, dense with the same sort of leaden want that trickles through Emma's veins.

Emma leans down and presses her mouth to Regina's neck, suckling with her lips then baring her teeth, biting down on the tender flesh that slopes out towards the other woman's shoulder. Regina gasps, first at the contact and then in pain, her hands coming up to clench around Emma's forearms, fingers curling around muscles that tick beneath the skin, nails digging in just that tiny bit too much. It's enough to remind Emma that they're equals now, though; that this is where they were always heading, like it or not. Because emotion, like magic, is an unstoppable, innate force within each of them.

Like it or not.

"You can't stay," Regina says, and Emma's mouth stills against her neck for the briefest of moments before it moves up to tickle against her ear, warm breath flooding over her cheek and making her squirm under Emma's weight.

"Would it be so bad if I did?" Emma whispers.

She's almost appalled at herself because once the words are there, they gravitate towards meaning. And meaning, understanding, coherence and evaluation aren't why she's here tonight. They aren't why Regina wanted her here, either. But her words float in the ether between the two women and Emma knows with a sinking heart that she can't take them back.

Her stomach plunges even deeper when she understands that she doesn't want to.

"Would it?" she whispers again, and feels Regina whine and move beneath her, the sinuous form of her body entreating Emma towards a verbal silence that will offer benediction for tonight, at least.

Drawing in a deep breath, Regina digs her nails into Emma's forearms as deeply as she can, half-hoping that she'll make the Savior bleed for what she's done to a world so carefully constructed. Regina made it so that nobody would ever hurt her again. And all she's done over the last year is wonder how on earth she could feel so much pain – she'd been under the impression that her curse would eradicate _that_ as well as everything else she'd ever known.

But Regina has taken enough hearts to know when one is ripe for the plucking; when it's rich with love and ripe with all the emotion life crams inside it. So when Emma hisses with pain and crushes her body down with intent, Regina turns her head to one side so she doesn't have to see the darkness she's put into Emma's eyes.

"Yes," she says.


	2. 2 - Waiting For A Guide

**Chapter 2: Waiting For A Guide**

There's a look of near-malicious satisfaction on Regina's face as she watches Emma struggle up the stairs with Henry. Emma navigates the staircase slowly, one arm wrapped around their son, his legs swinging against her own, while the other reaches out for the railing, fingers curling around it and hanging on as though for dear life. By the time she reaches the landing at the top of the stairs, the satisfaction has slipped from Regina's features and been replaced by an anxious, pained expression that puts lines around her eyes and mouth. She wrings her hands together and strains her ears, listening for sounds of protestation, of discomfort, of anything that might indicate Emma's parenting methods are inferior to her own.

But she hears nothing. Not until the thud of footsteps on the stairs brings Emma back down to the hallway where she shrugs and shoves her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans.

"He was out of it," she says by way of explanation. "Almost asleep before he even got in the car. He was sword fighting with his – with my – with David all day. I guess being a knight of the realm is pretty exhausting for an eleven year old." She quirks a smile at Regina and shrugs.

"Perhaps you should have let him be and stay at your…" Regina trails off because she might have stopped trying to kill Snow, but she hasn't stopped _thinking_ about it. Not since they returned from Neverland and Snow asserted herself as Henry's grandmother, demanding visitations and sleepovers and all manner of things that insinuate failure as a mother on Regina's part.

"Oh," Emma suddenly realizes what Regina means and she blinks, wide-eyed at the other woman. "No…I mean…that's okay. It's your night. This is his home."

Regina hums and looks Emma in the eye. "Try telling that to your mother."

Emma looks right back, her gaze unswervingly direct. "I **have**."

They stare at one another until Emma purses her lips, lifting her chin to effectively dismiss any further discussion about Snow. Her presence in their lives makes them both uncomfortable, defensive in different ways. They could talk all around the issue but it would be pointless; the time of fighting over Henry seems to pale in comparison to what they experienced and discovered in Neverland.

Yes; now they're more concerned with fighting _for_ him. It's an odd sort of Pyrrhic victory for Regina, one that she agonizes over in her attempts to be the mother he needs, all the while watching as he gravitates towards the mother he wants. She used to think that want and need were the same things – certainly in her world they merged into a lust for something she felt she never had, stained with blood and the easily disposable lives that stood in her way.

Perhaps she's mellowed somewhat – and that thought alone brings a grim smile to her lips – or perhaps she's simply learned that love, true love, means putting someone else's needs before her own. And, left wanting, she can only watch as Henry spends more and more time with the beginnings of his bloodline.

"Well," Emma breaks Regina's silent reverie with an awkward grin, scuffing a boot on the hardwood floor, "I guess I should be – "

"Miss Swan," Regina says, recovering enough to paste a politician's smile onto her lips and bare her teeth in that way that always brings a frown to Emma's brow, "how would you like a glass of the finest apple cider you've ever tasted?"

Emma almost laughs out loud; she feels hysteria rising in her chest because it seems like such a long time ago since Regina was the Mayor and she was simply passing through. Time is relative, she supposes, and in a town where time once stood still, it's really only their memories of the past that are urging them onwards. Swallowing, Emma tries to remember where they are now – who she is, what she's done, what she's _had_ to do in order to bring Henry home and live a life that chose her, not the other way around.

"Got anything stronger?" she asks, eyes glinting impudently.

She swears that she hears Regina laugh as she follows the other woman into the study where there's a fire in the grate and the faint scent of spiced apple in the air.

Emma's already slumped onto the couch by the time Regina hands her a glass of amber liquid with chunks of ice clinking against the sides and they both sip in silence as Regina settles herself opposite, one leg carefully placed over the other. Her gaze never leaves Emma, but in the muted light of the study, it's difficult to tell whether she's combative or merely pensive. That always was the problem with Regina, Emma thinks; like most predators, by the time she'd figured out Regina's _real_ intentions, it had always been too late.

But, she muses, downing the rest of her whiskey with an audible gulp that brings a frown to Regina's features, being caught in Regina's web was something she'd become accustomed to. Resigned to, even.

She places her glass onto the low table in front of her and smacks her lips loudly, only serving to increase the look of disdain on the face opposite her.

"So," Emma leans forwards, resting her elbows onto her knees, "about Henry."

"What about him?" Regina asks, still sipping daintily at her drink.

"This…**arrangement** we have, don't you think we should figure something out that's a bit more permanent?"

"Is this your way of telling me that you want to keep Henry? That you want to keep him away from **me**?" Regina's voice is terse and her body stiffens, fingers clenching around the glass so hard that Emma almost winces with fear that it will simply shatter in the other woman's grasp.

"It's not like that," Emma mutters, anxiety fluttering suddenly inside her chest.

"Oh?" Regina puts the glass down onto the table, standing and smoothing her hands down the impeccably straight lines of her skirt. "Then what **is** it like, Emma?"

Her pronunciation is clipped, her lips taut as she rounds the corner of the table and stands over Emma. It used to be threatening, this sort of proximity, but as Emma looks up at Regina all she sees is desperation. She saw it in Neverland, but since their return Regina appears to have doubled her efforts to hide her perceived weaknesses from them all, Emma especially. And no matter how much they might indulge in the fallacy of intimacy, under the cooling bedsheets Regina always turns away and demands that Emma leave before daylight and reality creeps in to bring them to account.

"Listen," Emma says, far more gently than either of them expect her to, "do we need to talk about this? About Henry and about…about us?"

Regina snorts, throwing back her head and for a second Emma can see the queen who was feared so much, who caused such great heartache and sorrow and destruction. The woman who created an entire world to try and ease the pain of the one she'd been born into. Snow is adamant about excluding Regina from anything Henry might call a family, but Emma is just as determined that whatever's happened in the past should stay there. She doesn't want to be the source of more pain, not for Regina, not for Henry and not for herself. Whichever way she looks at it – and she _has_ looked at it from every possible angle there is – Henry has two mothers. It's as simple a conclusion as it is problematic.

"Let me be very clear," Regina says haughtily, gazing down her nose at Emma with an imperious tilt to her head, "there is no **us** to speak of. Henry wants to see you so I let him. His happiness is the most important – the **only** important thing to me. You and I, dear, have no **arrangement**."

"Yeah, okay," Emma sighs, throwing up her hands and rising from the couch, "so you weren't going to ask me to stay tonight?"

Regina's nostrils flare but she says nothing. They're close now, so close that Emma can feel the heat and rage and sheer frustration radiating from the other woman in waves. And whatever they are to one another, whatever they've been in the past: a threat, adversaries, enemies, even, there's no mistaking that right now they're just two women.

It's shocking, considering all that's happened in recent months, that it should come to something like this, Emma thinks. The paltry, messy way that they've come together in secrecy and the lies they tell themselves in order to soothe the open wounds of their existence.

"You know what?" Emma pulls at her jacket and shakes her head. "This was a mistake. I should go."

"Wait."

Regina's hand is on her arm and Emma can feel something else now: it hums at the end of Regina's fingers, through her leather jacket and creeps across her skin like the whisper of warm breath. She shivers, despite the heat from the fire and when she looks into Regina's eyes, Emma can see the confusion there. It's almost a relief, almost a balm for her ragged nerves and the uncertainty that passes back and forth between them.

It means she's not alone in this.

So she waits, looking at Regina. Emma can feel the other woman's breath on her cheek, can feel how Regina's fingers are flexing around her arm, pulsing sensation and feeling and awareness throughout her entire body. It's not just the magic; Emma knows that their point of connection is amplified by the power they've shared, but ever since she came to Storybrooke, something long dormant inside her has been awakened. Magic, emotion, destruction…it's all the same when it comes to Regina.

"Emma, I – " Regina begins, then halts, mouth open as though the very words themselves have dissipated from her lips like the fading vestiges of magic. She swallows hard and her throat constricts, but the only sound Emma hears is the crackle of logs in the grate as they're consumed by flames.

"Just…please, **wait**," Regina finally forces out with such great effort that she bends slightly and Emma catches the scent of her perfume, as intoxicating and heady as the woman herself. But it's not enough. It might never be, the way they navigate so fearfully around the rise and fall of feeling and panic and loss.

"Why **should** I?" Emma says.

"Because I – because I asked you to." There's a tiny note of surprise in Regina's voice and she jerks backwards, eyes widening. Once upon a time nobody dared question or refuse her anything. Now all she seems to do is beg for clemency and the wanting of it sits heavy on her shoulders, weighing her down.

Emma closes her eyes for a moment, hearing her heart pick up apace, surging a quickened beat into her ears. By the time she's taken a breath and opened her eyes, Regina's closer than ever. They're almost touching, bodies flush, the air between them vibrating with tension.

"I'm done doing things because you say so," Emma tells Regina, her voice a low growl of resistance. "Give me a good enough reason. Shit, Regina, give me **any** reason."

Regina gazes into Emma's eyes and feels that if she were to fall, then she'd simply plummet downwards and never, ever stop. But there's a difference between wanting to lose control and actually surrendering it; in Neverland, against Pan, she wanted to so many times that without Emma by her side to temper and lighten the darkness Regina knows she would have tumbled into an abyss of her own making.

"Regina," Emma says, and there's an impatience to her voice that's hard and unrelenting, that always will be now they've crossed lines and broken boundaries.

Darting forwards, Regina sinks her fingers into thick locks of blonde hair, trickling over her skin like sanctified water. She crushes her mouth against Emma's, their teeth clashing. Her tongue pushes past Emma's lips, tasting and savoring and she can't help the gratified groan that sounds in her throat, thick and wanton.

Emma clutches at Regina, hands roughly pulling at the other woman's hips so that their bodies bump together. Regina begins to wind her arms around Emma's neck as their kiss becomes intense, flaring heat between them and inside them, tendrils of lust overwhelming reason, physicality obliterating anything but the buzz of arousal in their ears.

It's only when Regina trembles against her that Emma reaches up, extricating herself from their embrace, pulling her mouth from lips that she knows can offer blessings as well as curses. Staggering back, Emma shakes her head, lips forming a defiant line of silent protestation.

"Stay," Regina says, moving forwards again. But Emma puts up a hand to halt the other woman's progress and shakes her head again, gasping for air and peace and all the things she knows this woman can never give her without a price. And even if it might be worth the cost, Emma's tired of taking risks with what's left of her heart.

She backs away a few paces, looking at Regina's kiss-bruised lips, the way her eyes plead in a way that her mouth can never do. Emma can't help wondering if in their immense depth and shadow she might find sanctuary.

It terrifies her as much as she feels her heart lurching towards it.

"I have to go," she says, stumbling towards the door. When she reaches it, she turns to stare at Regina and sees a queen in disarray, a woman in distress, an opponent vanquished. A year ago, it might have been enough to assuage the turmoil in her chest and the ache in her gut.

Tonight, it falls far short of the expectations that she's been keeping to herself over the last few weeks and Emma can't help but feel like she's failed herself, failed _both_ of them by simply not being strong enough to resist this.

"Tell Henry I said goodnight," she says, then turns and leaves.


	3. 3 - See The Horrors Of A Faraway Place

Chapter 3: See The Horrors Of A Faraway Place

Emma squeezes into the cramped cabin and as she closes the door behind her she's beset by a wave of claustrophobia. The constant pitching of the ship doesn't help and she swallows weakly as she leans against the door, taking a deep breath to steady herself. There's a bunk against the opposite wall where Henry has been lying, weak and drowsy, ever since they left Neverland.

Regina, perched on the edge of the bunk, hasn't left his side once.

"How's he doing?" Emma peers over Regina's shoulder to see Henry wrapped in bedclothes, a humped form, tousled brown hair the only indicator that there's anything human underneath the rough blankets that Hook has provided.

"Still asleep," Regina tells her. Her hand hovers over Henry's hair before she clenches it into a fist and pulls it back against her body, as though touching him might make him disappear again. "He had something to eat and drink a few hours ago but other than that…"

She doesn't really need to explain. Henry was frail when they found him, the land where time stands still taking its toll in unusual ways. His strength sapped, he was little more than a shadow of his former self when they brought him back to the ship. Rumpelstiltskin assured them that Henry was fine, physically speaking. But Emma and Regina are worried about the dark circles beneath their son's eyes and the way he looks wildly at them whenever he wakes like a child emerging from a dark nightmare.

"You should get some rest," Emma says. Regina's face is pale, her features wan and sickly under the swinging lantern overhead, but even as she takes a step forwards, there's a stubborn expression crossing Regina's face that speaks of denial before her mouth opens.

"I can rest when this is over," Regina says firmly, although her voice is soft and her gaze returns once more to the sleeping form by her side. "When we get home," she adds.

She reaches out again and, this time, her fingertips trail lightly through Henry's hair. There's a fond smile on her lips and her gaze mists with memory as she withdraws her hand and tucks the blanket more firmly around the sleeping boy. It's done with the sort of practiced expertise that speaks of years where Regina was Henry's sole carer. Emma knows she has no right to feel jealous, but that's the emotion that tightens her throat as Regina makes it look easy. But then, she reasons to herself, Regina makes a lot of very difficult things look like they don't bother her at all.

If it weren't for the faint lines around the other woman's eyes and mouth, and the sad tinge to the color of her eyes, Emma might be fooled.

But, after Neverland, Emma knows Regina will never be able to fool her again. And that's a burden they'll both share.

"He had scarlet fever when he was four," Regina says, her gaze roaming the inert figure of their son. "I stayed with him the entire time and barely slept in a week until it was under control and I knew he was going to be alright."

She glances at Emma and a terse smile pulls at her lips. "Sometimes I think being terrified is part and parcel of being a mother. You never really stop being scared for your child."

It's not so much the admission but rather the fact that it's being offered to Emma without recompense that makes it shocking. Gone is the hardened expression that Regina usually wears; gone is the veiled, carefully constructed wall that puts a barrier between them. It's confusing. Not necessarily unwelcome, but definitely more than a little bewildering.

The ship lurches again and Emma presses her hands against the wall of the cabin, swallowing the watery rush inside her mouth and willing herself to remain calm. But the downturn of her mouth and the way she breathes heavily catch Regina's attention and she half turns her head to look at Emma enquiringly.

"It wasn't this bad on the way here," Emma confesses, shaking her head and immediately wishing she hadn't. "I'm not a natural sailor, I guess."

Regina hums quietly and nods a little, turning back to Henry and putting her hand on the bump of his shoulder beneath the blankets.

"I'm not a natural mother, either," Emma laughs a little, but there's something about the way Regina's eyebrows rise that makes her feel like this learning curve she's on isn't something that's solely hers. That maybe Regina can sympathize – empathize, even.

Emma remembers a time when she would have been horrified at a shared experience between herself and the Evil Queen. But then again, Regina's not the Evil Queen anymore, and Emma's a little more disillusioned with the notion that fairytales always have a happy ending. She knows that right now she'll simply settle for _any_ ending to all of this wherein they go back to Storybrooke, where she and Regina can start learning to be the sort of parents that Henry really needs.

"Listen," Emma dares to move away from the relative safety of the cabin wall and takes a step towards Regina, "can I…can I ask you something? About the…uh…magic?"

Regina frowns and looks at Emma, then back at Henry. She presses her lips together, the furrows on her brow deepening.

"I just feel – I mean – you and I were – "

"Not here." Regina's voice is curt, her hand lifted in the air, effectively bringing Emma to a halt in the center of the cabin. Rising from the bunk, Regina shakes her head and gestures towards the door. "Henry needs to rest," she qualifies, and brushes past Emma, exiting the cabin with the kind of flourish that seems incongruous now.

On deck, there's a strong breeze that snatches at Emma's hair. The ship is still listing from side to side, but it seems less nauseating now and the sound of waves crashing rhythmically against the bow is almost comforting, in a way.

"Henry doesn't need to hear about magic," Regina explains as Emma comes alongside her and they begin to walk towards the prow of the ship. "And he doesn't need to know what we did in order to get him back, either."

There's a tremulous darkness that shadows her features and she turns away from Emma, finally coming to a stop by the railing, fingers curling around it and hanging on tightly.

"You told me to find my anger," Emma says, leaning back against the railing. "You said it was how I could make my magic work."

"It's one of the ways, yes," Regina tells her. "The quickest, strongest way we had."

"I can still feel it," Emma shivers as the wind whips around her. "I can still feel **you**. Like your anger and mine is…I don't know…inside me or something." It's a paltry explanation and she grimaces as the words leave her mouth because the sensation sitting in her gut is a heavy stone of regret and guilt and all the emotions she never thought would come with magic.

Regina looks out over the railing towards the stormy horizon. There are clouds gathering, portentous and dark and she fervently hopes that they'll be able to avoid any more tempests before they finally make it back to the safe waters of Storybrooke's shore. She turns to look at Emma and sees the same turbulence in green eyes, a reflection of everything the Savior should never feel. It disturbs her in ways she can't quite comprehend – ways she tries to ignore and rail against, just as she has done her entire life. For all the good that created Emma, Regina can feel the rage that hums beneath the surface: resentment for a life that has ripped Snow's daughter away from her heritage.

"My magic comes from a dark place," she admits. "And my anger, well, it was all I had when everything else was taken away. I clung to it because it was my strength. Love, kindness, my innocence…they were things that people wanted to take for themselves and leave me with nothing. But I always had my anger. And I had magic."

It feels good, somehow, to talk about it. She's never been much of a one for confessionals, nor has she been the sort of woman who makes friends – not after those who occupied a place in her heart betrayed her and decimated that poor organ into a small, blackened nugget of pain and despair. But Emma knows, Regina can tell. Emma knows how it feels to lose everything.

"I didn't think I was angry," Emma says so quietly that her words are almost completely swallowed by the wind around them. "And then, the magic was…it woke up that part of me I tried so hard not to feel, you know? Saving Henry was more important than anything and I felt so – so angry at Pan for taking him. I felt angry that we were even there in the first place."

She frowns and pushes at her hair, inching closer to Regina so that she can peer into the other woman's face and try to discern whether she's talking to a foe or friend. The lines between those things have become so blurred that Emma wonders if her mother's insistence on the sharp delineation of good and evil isn't just a way of living in blissful ignorance. Because people aren't one thing or another; she knows that now more than she ever did before.

"I was so mad at everyone – at Neal, Hook, my parents. Even at you. Well, maybe **especially** at you." Emma half-smiles at the widening of Regina's eyes and moves a little closer, drawn to something she knows can hurt her far more than those others ever have. "And it's all still there inside me, that anger. Yours as well as mine."

She pauses and watches as Regina gazes at her, features gleaming in the moonlight overhead until a heavy cloud obliterates the light.

"How do you get rid of it?" she asks softly. "How do you…how do you just stop feeling this way?"

A sad smile creeps across Regina's lips and she draws her coat a little closer around her body as though it can fend off the way that Emma's staring at her. She can hear the pleading note in the blonde's voice and wishes, in a moment of pure selflessness, that it didn't have to be this way for Emma. Their son deserves at least one parent who isn't flawed and broken, who isn't rotten on the inside.

"I don't know," she answers honestly, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. "I've been angry for so long that I've simply forgotten how anything else feels."

"That's not true," Emma says adroitly, shaking her head. "When we – when we did what we had to, I felt your anger but there was something else, Regina. And yeah, maybe it was buried deep inside you, but I felt it. You love Henry, don't you?"

"More than anything," Regina says, her mouth twisting as she hears the break in her voice and the emotion she feels for her son betraying her far more greatly than Snow or her mother ever did.

"Is it enough to make the anger go away, even just for a second?" Emma leans in and finds herself almost pressed up against Regina, her eagerness bringing her much closer to the other woman than she intended. She can feel Regina bristle slightly, but they stand their ground, neither one willing to move an inch.

"Why don't you ask your mother?" Regina says, eyes narrowing at the mere thought of Snow's edicts on love and loss. "She likes to think of herself as an expert when it comes to true love."

"I'm asking **you**," Emma darts back, lip curling a little. "Just…please, Regina, **tell** me. Tell me how you got this way. Tell me why you're so – "

She's cut off by a hand grasping her arm just above the elbow and a mouth that fastens itself to hers and silences her with a kiss. Alarm flutters through Emma's chest, but by the time it's reached her brain, she has her hands on Regina's coat, tugging the other woman close against her so that they stumble against the railing. Emma makes a noise of surprise in her throat as her hip crashes against the hard wood, but she doesn't let go. Whatever's in them both, raging like the sea, is as deep and squally as the tide that's turning against them.

Emma spins, pushing Regina back against the railing and shoving her hand inside the other woman's coat as she does so. She clutches at Regina's shirt, fingers seeking warmth and flesh. Regina's mouth moves to her neck and Emma gasps for air, blinking rapidly as she feels teeth scraping downwards along her collarbone. Palming Regina's breast, Emma squeezes far too hard and hears a muffled note of indignation against her skin at the same time fingertips are plucking at the waistband of her jeans. By the time Regina's hand forces itself past denim and into her panties, Emma's already rocking her hips towards the other woman's touch.

Magic might have created some sort of bond between them, but in Emma's world – a world where she fought and scraped and lied and cheated for everything she ever owned or experienced – this is a tangible sensation. It's something _real_. Something she can feel leaping in her chest and lighting up her senses. Regina is the flame and Emma is drawn to her even if it signifies an inescapable doom.

Emma gasps aloud as Regina thrusts inside her. There's no preamble, no sentiment, no emotion other than want. And Regina has wanted so much for so long that Emma can literally feel it like a craving in her belly, a hunger that needs to be sated. Emma bears down onto Regina's touch and digs her fingers even deeper into the pliant heat of the other woman's breast. Her other hand sinks into black hair and roughly pulls Regina's head back so that she can at least gaze into her eyes, but they're so dark and fathomless that Emma can hardly bear to look. Regina's lips are wet, shining in the scant light; Emma falls upon them and kisses Regina hard as she feels her body begin to quiver.

When she cries out, it's against Regina's mouth, the sound smothered by lips and tongue and heat. Her climax thrums throughout her entire body, shaking and jerking her into an embrace that is as welcome as it is uncommon.

They stand there like that, the quickness fading to a languorous sensation that ripples up and down Emma's spine as she breathes in the scent of Regina – that indefinable, unmistakable perfume that the other woman seems to wear on her skin all the time. Regina's mouth is buried into the crook of Emma's neck and her lips are moving slowly over inaudible words, whether a blessing or a curse, the blonde can't quite tell.

It's hard not to feel angry, Emma thinks, as Regina extricates herself and steps backwards, pulling at her coat to straighten it. It's hard not to feel resentful for all that life might have offered them; all that was robbed by mistakes and by pain. And it's hard not to want everything from someone when you know they have nothing to offer you in return.

Regina is breathing heavily and her cheeks are flushed, but she turns away and grips the railing for a moment to steady herself, to look at something other than the Savior in disarray by her own hand. There was a time when that might have pleased her, when it might have been a gratifying victory, but all Regina feels right now is defeat and she only has herself to blame.

"Regina – " Emma begins, but is pushed aside as Regina takes a few, shaky paces past her and then pauses, clutching her arms around her torso.

"I need to get back to Henry," is all she says. And then she's gone.


	4. 4 - Memories Scarred

Chapter 4 – Memories Scarred And The Vision Is Blurred

Regina's head lolls back onto the back of the couch and she closes her eyes, letting out a long, ragged breath of a sigh that rumbles somewhere at the base of her throat before disappearing into a protracted moan. It's a delicious sound to her own ears; she wasn't sure she would be able to feel this much unbridled, wanton pleasure. She'd always sought pleasure out in the dark deeds and cruel victories that had characterized her past and, she'd thought, bled into her present and shadowed her future, too. But this is…this is _pure_. It's like sunlight, warm and blissful and all-encompassing and she is, quite literally, basking in the sensation.

There's something to be said for capitulation, Regina thinks to herself. All her past surrenders had been forced out of her; she'd been brought to her knees metaphorically and literally time and again in tears that threatened to drown her. After that, she had sworn to herself that she would never give up any part of herself because of the demands of another.

But she never imagined for one second that she would willingly submit to the Savior. Not like this, and not in all the other ways that Emma occupies her bed and her thoughts with a hot spike of guilt and lust that makes Regina want things she has no right to desire.

If her mother could see her now, how disappointed she'd be. Because even if Emma's the one who's on her knees, it is Regina who is vulnerable, diminished by design and laid bare by something as insignificant as prurient hunger. Cora would _never_ let her appetites become obstacles; rather, she would insist that Regina use sexuality as another weapon in her arsenal, a tool to be utilized in order to exact her power. Regina still can't fully decide whether it's a pity or not that her mother never got to see her do just that so overwhelmingly successfully that, by the time she was queen, mere men would tremble in her presence.

She always did want to please her mother. And, in spite of the horrors that Cora would subject her to, there was always a part of her that was desirous of making her mother proud. There's still a part of her now that can't help wondering what might have happened should she have resisted Rumple's machinations; what she might have become under Cora's guiding hand and not his. Because if her heart was always destined to be dark, then it would have become so whatever path destiny set her on. And she wouldn't have been forced into holding Cora's cold body in her arms, feeling her own heart throb so fiercely with sorrow that it seemed it would simply burst from her chest.

Yes; wanting pleasure for pleasure's sake and in such lascivious, primal ways would be anathema to Cora. And yet, these days, it's one of the only things that keeps Regina moving forwards, indulging in Henry and in these liaisons as though her life depended on it.

Perhaps it does.

The figure between her legs pauses, a huff of dismay tickling against Regina's inner thighs. Emma lifts her head and gazes up the length of Regina's near-naked figure, a frown inserting itself between her eyes.

"Hey," Emma says gently, cocking her head onto one side, "where did you go?"

Blinking as she's tugged from her reverie, Regina takes a second to assess the situation before smiling and lifting a hand, waving it dismissively in the air.

"Nowhere, dear. As you can see, I'm right here."

"It's not about what I **see**," Emma sits back on her haunches and purses her lips. "It's what I **feel**. You were with me and then…then you weren't. You just went cold."

Her lips are glistening and she wipes the back of her hand across them, eliciting a moue of distaste from Regina which Emma promptly ignores with a roll of her eyes. Regina might like to purport the image of a tightly-wound, stuck up conservative, but Emma knows that there's a wildness in the other woman that's only truly unleashed when they're together; when the need for one another becomes a hasty series of grabbing and touching and tasting and urging. It's probably the most honest either of them have ever been and Emma understands why that's terrifying for them both.

But there must be a reason why it keeps happening. A reason why they keep coming back to one another as opposed to seeking comfort elsewhere with other people. Even in a town as small as Storybrooke, Emma knows there's any number of willing volunteers. It just makes what she and Regina have all the more ironic, she supposes. Because in Fairy Tale Land, the Savior and the Evil Queen should never be doing…well, _this_.

"So, what's up?" Emma looks up at Regina and shrugs.

"What's…up?" Regina repeats, before she lets out a breath of mirthless laughter and shakes her head slowly. "**You** were the one who suggested lunch, Emma, if you remember."

"And if **you** remember," a sly grin parts Emma's lips, "I suggested we grab something to eat together." It takes a moment, but when Regina catches her drift Emma can't help chuckling at the faintly horrified expression that crosses the other woman's features.

"Oh, please," she says, as Regina struggles into a more upright position, "like you didn't know what I meant."

Regina glares down at her, mouth pursing. "I am fully aware that your background and dubious career means that you talk like a trucker, if that's what you're getting at."

"And how many truckers do **you** know, your Majesty?" Emma shoots back, a glimmer of offended irritation in her green eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Regina murmurs, looking around the sofa for her clothing, suddenly aware that she's really not wearing very much and if they're going to spend the rest of the time they have together arguing, then she's damn well not going to be at a disadvantage. But Emma rears up, putting her hands onto Regina's knees, thumbs digging in hard enough to draw a gasp from the other woman.

"Actually? Yeah," Emma says, and she runs her hands up the length of Regina's thighs, pulling them back down again with hooked fingers so that her nails, short as they are, leave red streaks behind them. Regina hisses, arching her back, and Emma grins wickedly. "Come on, Regina, tell me a few secrets."

"I don't have any to tell," Regina forces out as Emma grabs her knees again and forces them apart, splaying her open. It's horribly undignified but Regina can't help but groan aloud again as Emma bends and trails the tip of her tongue up the length of an inner thigh towards damp curls of dark hair.

"That's a lie," Emma murmurs, her mouth pressed against heated flesh.

"You already know my secrets," Regina gasps. "All there is to know."

"A **lie**," Emma retorts, turning to treat Regina's other thigh to another firm, wet, stroke with her tongue. She glances up, seeing how Regina's eyes flutter shut for a second, how she bites at her lower lip and how her hips shift towards Emma's mouth.

"I don't – don't know what you want me to s-say," Regina manages to form words, even though she's not entirely sure they're the right ones, or even in the right order. It's frustrating enough that she's so hungry for Emma, never mind that the blonde is here to witness and revel in it. She pushes down on the sofa, intending to bring this ridiculous pastime to an abrupt end, but there's a hand on her chest and Emma looms up over her, eyes glittering.

"What I **want**," Emma speaks slowly, deliberately, as though Regina's an idiot, "is no more lies."

"I'm not – not lying!" Regina breathes, and Emma feels a faint thrill tremble in her gut at the note of desperation she hears. If they were still enemies – and it's odd that there's been no significant reason to suggest that they aren't – then this would be threatening, the Savior finally wreaking her revenge on the Evil Queen for all that she's done.

"Here's the thing," Emma slides her hand down Regina's chest, between her breasts, fingertips trickling over the tiny swell of the other woman's stomach and dipping down to linger where Regina's legs are parted. "I can tell when someone's telling the truth. Call it my superpower, if you like. I can see your secrets, Regina. They're as pristine and layered as the clothes you wear, so finely crafted that nobody can see past them. They're your armor."

Emma spreads Regina's legs again and insinuates herself between them, bending to nuzzle the pliant, velvety skin on the woman's inner thigh. She places a soft kiss about halfway up, close enough to smell Regina's arousal, heightening her senses and making her stomach lurch with desire. Sucking the sweet, plump flesh into her mouth, Emma bites down on it, making Regina squirm and whine above her head.

When she relinquishes the other woman's skin, there's a dark red mark surrounded by the indentations of her teeth. Emma smiles and her fingers dance up and down Regina's thighs until the other woman begins to growl and shift impatiently on the sofa, her hips starting a slow circle of dizzying want.

"You'd know all about armor, wouldn't you?" Regina's voice is deep now, husked with how much she needs the battle, how much she wants Emma, how confusing and conflicting those two things are.

"Me?" Emma shrugs, pushing out her lips into an equivocal expression. "I'm the **Savior**, Regina. The avenging White Knight, come to give everyone their happy ending." Her voice borders on sardonic, a hard note shaping the sound, giving it a razor sharp edge of bitterness. This time, when she puts her mouth against Regina's thigh, her teeth are unforgiving. Regina lets out a shrill cry and jerks upwards on the sofa, her hands darting out to bury themselves in Emma's hair. She tugs, hard, and for a moment she thinks Emma is going to retaliate. Memories of their combative history flash through her mind, only serving to increase her grip because if she lets go of it, relinquishes who they've been to one another, then what would they have? What _might_ they have? For a blistering moment, Regina feels Emma's hot breath flooding over her wet thighs and she strains towards it, ready to offer herself up to whatever punishment might be meted out.

"I guess we're both a bit battle scarred," Emma whispers, her mouth suddenly gentle against Regina's skin.

For some reason she can't quite define, a lump springs to Regina's throat. Her fingernails scratch a tattoo over Emma's scalp in a protracted moment of silence and it seems as though things are changing in Storybrooke; it feels as though things are shifting between them, too. What was once enmity has now become intimacy and Regina, for the life of her, can't figure out precisely when that happened.

Emma moves suddenly, breaking the stillness. Whatever the truth is, it sears itself into Regina's skin as Emma's tongue sweeps a long line upwards before finally, blissfully plunging inside her. There's no room for lies as Emma pushes her hands beneath Regina's thighs, half-lifting the other woman onto her mouth and hooking Regina's legs over her shoulders. She gains purchase, takes control, and the tip of her tongue dances over an aching, throbbing point of such great sensitivity that Regina cries out again. But this time she's begging, imploring Emma to make her come, demanding release and writhing under the wave of potent pleasure that's washing over her. Her fingers wind through Emma's hair and she can feel silken tendrils on her upper thighs, falling over her skin like blessed, cooling rain.

Pleasure for pleasure's sake. Surrendering to something that's greater than a sum of their parts; something that builds within her and is echoed in the hastening touch of a Savior. And maybe they _are_ both scarred, maybe they're both wasted in ways that can _never_ be healed. But as she rises from the sofa and Emma's hands hold her firmly, making sure she can't disappear or float away on the ocean of grief that surges inside her, Regina thinks that pleasure – the sweet relief that Emma brings – might just be worth it all, in the end.


	5. 5 - Leading Me To Ruin

**Chapter 5 – Leading Me To Ruin**

Regina places a bowl in front of Emma and gives a tight smile at the murmured thanks she receives. Across from Emma, Henry peers into a similar bowl and makes a tiny sound somewhere between surprise and amusement.

"Seriously, mom?" he says, eyebrows rising as he watches Regina take her seat at the head of the table. "Apple pie?"

"It always used to be your favorite," Regina answers smoothly, offering him a jug of cream which he takes with a slow, ponderous look on his face.

"It still is!" Henry assures her, slathering enough cream over his dessert to draw a disapproving look from Regina. Reluctantly, he shoves the jug of cream across the table towards Emma and turns to Regina, a solemn expression crossing his features. "It's just that – I mean – well…these apples **are** okay, aren't they?"

It's only as he points towards his dessert with a spoon that Regina realizes what he means, and she straightens in her chair, stiffening over the question that Henry's really asking. It feels like a lifetime ago when she tried to enact another sleeping curse; a time when she was desperate to keep Emma away from Henry, desperate to maintain any semblance of power, just _desperate_, period.

She's not desperate anymore. What she feels now is something different. Not the opposite of desperation – not _yet_, anyway – but for some time now there's been a faint glimmer of hope that the past might actually stop haunting her. And, even though she's loath to admit it, Regina has to accept that Emma might have something to do with that. Certainly, since their return from Neverland and the troublesome, wonderful, overwhelming physical relationship they've entered into, there have been times when Regina's wondered if she's living the way other people do. Normal people.

So she pastes a smile onto her lips and nods at Henry. Because even if his question indicates concern, she knows her relationship with him has changed irrevocably since they brought him home.

"They're from the tree outside," she tells him. "And they're sleeping curse free, if that's what you're wondering."

He frowns at the playful tone of her voice and how it sounds genuine, glancing across the table at Emma, who shrugs and pours an overly generous amount of cream into her bowl.

"Yeah, kid," she comments. "Your mom's done trying to kill – "

She stops herself at the same moment she sees Regina's features harden in her peripheral vision. Emma remembers promising to tell Henry the truth but there are some things he doesn't need to know. Images flash through her head of what she and Regina have been doing over the last few weeks and she shifts uncomfortably in her chair. There are _definitely_ some things Henry doesn't need to be made aware of, even if she knew how to explain it to him. God, even if she knew how to explain it to _herself_.

"Well," Emma finally says, clearing her throat, "what I **meant** to say is that your mom and I are…we're friends now."

Regina snorts and tosses her head. "Not really."

She catches sight of Henry's alarmed expression and reaches out, patting his hand soothingly. "We're friendly, dear. It's not the same thing."

"Kinda is," Emma mumbles, shoving a spoonful of pie into her mouth and winking at Henry, who follows suit and chews silently, watching the back and forth between them with increasing interest.

"It's really not," Regina says breezily, pouring the tiniest amount of cream over her pie and daintily spooning far less than a mouthful past her lips.

"Except it is," Emma announces firmly, before pointing down at her bowl of pie and cream with her spoon and groaning aloud. "Someone who wasn't my friend wouldn't make something for me that tastes **this** good."

Regina tries to hide the look of pleasure on her face, lips twitching over a smile as she attempts to glare at Emma and rolls her eyes. "Well then, if I'm to be your friend then I should probably tell you that we don't talk with our mouths full in this house."

She's all prim and proper and Henry stifles a chuckle at Emma's wide-eyed expression because he's heard those exact words before, many times. Although, when _he_ heard them he was little more than a baby, learning manners under the guiding hand of his mother. Things have changed now though, he tells himself. Even if the way that Emma mutters an apology through another hefty mouthful of food puts an expression on Regina's face that's less than forgiving, he has to admit that the way they are with one another now is…well, kind of comforting. Kind of normal.

Or what passes for normal in Storybrooke, anyway.

For a few more minutes, there's little sound other than the scraping of bowls and gratified sighs as the three diners finish their dessert. When Henry's spoon falls with a clatter, he leans back in his chair and beams at Regina.

"Thanks, mom," he says. "Dinner was great, and thanks for inviting Emma."

"Yeah," Emma nods, "thanks for inviting me, Regina." She looks at the other woman and sees that suppressed smile again. Emma suddenly realizes that she's never really seen Regina smile properly, without guile or cautionary control. She also realizes that it might not be so terrible to want to see it; that it might not be such a bad thing to want to put a smile on Regina's mouth herself.

The mere thought makes Emma balk and she gasps, hastily turning it into a cough that has both Henry and Regina staring at her, equally bemused. Emma clenches her hand into a fist and thumps it against her chest, smiling weakly.

"I guess this is what happens when I try to be nice," she croaks.

"Oh, is **that** what it was, dear? Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything," Regina says acerbically, but she catches Emma's eye and they exchange a glance that speaks of more than can ever be said in front of their son.

"Are you two…is everything…" Henry starts, then chews pensively at his lower lip, brow furrowed as he looks between them. "Are you two **really** okay?" he finally asks. "With each other, I mean."

"Of course!"

"Sure we are!"

Emma and Regina both speak at once, so quickly and in such assertive, cheery tones that Henry recoils and folds his arms over his chest, glowering at them in turn.

"Something's going on," he says, shaking his head, his bottom lip pushing out in a way that seems incongruously childish given all that he's experienced over past months. "You two are acting weird."

Emma looks at Regina again and puffs out her cheeks. Before dinner, before Henry came barreling down the stairs and into her arms, she and Regina had been circling one another uneasily. Emma can see that discomfort in Regina's eyes now, how she's struggling with something she can barely comprehend, let alone verbalize. Emma knows how that feels; ever since she and Regina found common ground in one another's arms there's been a tension between them that flares every time they're in the same room. It's only natural that Henry should pick up on it. And, Emma's heart sinks, it's also only natural that she and Regina should both try to hide it from him.

After all, it's how they protect him best.

"Please tell me," Henry urges, leaning over the table, holding out his hands beseechingly. "Is it another curse? Do we need to be heroes again?"

His voice is almost hopeful, sending a pang of anxiety through Regina's chest. She always tried so hard to shield Henry from the realities of her world, only to see him damn-near swallowed by them in Neverland. Of them all, Henry was the only one with an indomitable belief in the things Regina sought to leave behind. Her failings had become his guide – his touchstone to discern right and wrong, good and evil. And even when he teetered on the brink between life and death, when she and Emma were crouched over him, sobbing and begging him not to leave them, Henry always believed that good would win and bring him his own happy ending.

It's why, ultimately, Regina knows that between her and Emma it's the Savior that Henry will always gravitate towards and not the mother who raised him shrouded in uncertainty and shadow. She might love him more than she loves anything else – more than she's _ever_ loved anyone else – but true love was never very kind to her and she seems destined to lose Henry too.

"Kid…" Emma begins hesitantly, but Henry's clearly got a one-track mind and he shakes his head vehemently as he stares between her and Regina.

"You're meant to be enemies!" he exclaims. "But you're not, are you? I mean, not anymore. And I know that things are different but I can't work out how and – "

"Henry," Regina says, leaning over the table and laying one of her hands, palm down, over the back of his. "There's no curse, nothing's wrong, and Emma – Miss Swan and I are just fine, alright?" Her voice is much more confident than she feels and for a second Regina is almost taken aback by her ability to still present that silky smooth calm she'd perfected over years of being in control.

The truth is that she's not in control anymore. Regina looks at Emma; the blonde appears shifty, avoiding her gaze and fiddling with the handle of her spoon. As much as she'd like to blame Emma for the way she feels, Regina at least has the wherewithal to know that they're both responsible for this – for the spurious, oddly united front they're both showing.

"Everything is fine," Regina tells Henry. But his lips purse dubiously and his chin falls to his chest as he slouches in his chair.

"It's not," he mutters, glowering at her and then across the table at Emma. "And neither of you will tell me why."

"Kid, if there was something to tell you, then we **would**," Emma comes to life, straightening in her chair and throwing up her hands into the air. "But me and your mom, we're just – it's just – "

His eyebrows rise expectantly and Emma draws in a deep breath before letting it out slowly in a grating sigh. The fact of the matter is that she's tired of sneaking around, tired of lying to everyone. But acknowledging what she and Regina are doing would be to face it head on, and Emma knows that Regina isn't ready for that. She's not sure she is, either. Most people would feel shame, she supposes.

But she doesn't. She never has. Not over Regina, anyway.

"It's complicated." Emma settles for a path of least resistance but it feels woefully inadequate and as Henry's frown deepens and becomes almost thunderous, she's suddenly aware that he's inherited a lot more from Regina than he has from her.

"No, it's not. Just tell me the truth. I saw you sneaking out the other night, Emma. Why were you here so late? What's happening?"

A wave of panic prickles up Emma's spine and she sits bolt upright in her chair. Regina is rather more composed, but from the way her fingers twist against one another on the table in front of her, it's clear that the time for secrecy is running out. And maybe it was just a simple matter of time after all, Emma thinks, like they were trapped in some huge sandglass with a grace period that's fast disappearing before their eyes.

"Is there something you'd like to discuss, Henry?" Regina's response comes in a tremulous tone, but to her great credit she has the strength of mind to look her son in the eye.

Henry appears troubled, mulling over words that move his lips but no sound comes out until he lifts a hand and waves it in the air between Emma and Regina. "I don't know," he finally says. "But my dad says that the two of you are – "

"Your **father**?" Regina can't help snorting with derision and her lip curls at the mere thought of Neal. "That man has absolutely **no** right to cast judgment on – "

"Regina."

Emma's voice is low but the warning is there nonetheless. There's a thick tension in the air for a minute that envelops all three of them around the table like magic, binding them into silence and putting a lump of anxiety into Regina's throat. She swallows over it and takes a breath. Love always was the one emotion that taunted her, horribly intricate and convoluted, trying her patience and sapping her will.

Ever since the day she first held Henry in her arms, Regina has loved him exclusively. But lately she's come to wonder if there's room in her heart for something else…_someone_ else. It's as terrifying as it is exhilarating. Her hands are shaking as she nods at Henry and tries to smile.

"I'm sorry, Henry," she says. "I know you care about him."

Henry shrugs, but his eyes are luminous as he gazes at his mother and wonders when apologies became part of her vocabulary. And even if the things that Neal's said about his mothers seem ridiculous, Henry feels a nagging desire to know if they're true.

"He's my dad," he tells Regina, shrugging. "And – and I just want us all to be happy, you know?"

He looks purposefully at Emma, then at Regina before his head sinks to his chest once more. "All of us," he mumbles. "And I don't – don't care about fairytales anymore because the stuff they say means that you can't…that you two can't…and if what my dad says is true then I don't know…I mean…"

Emma's the first to push back her chair, scraping it loudly across the floor as she hurries around the table to crouch down by Henry's side. She cups his chin and lifts it so that he can look her in the eye as she grins fondly at him.

"Listen to me, kid," she says gently, "we're all okay here. Life isn't a fairytale, okay? It's just life. And you, me, your mom and yeah, even Neal…we're all just doing the best we can. Because we **love** you. We all love you so much. And whatever happens, that's going to be true for ever and ever, okay?"

It's funny, how fast he's growing. He's old enough now to understand that what she's offering him are platitudes, but still young enough to accept them gratefully. Emma pats his cheek gently and is taken aback when he throws his arms around her neck for a fierce hug. When he releases her, he pushes away from the table and stands up, going to Regina and giving her the same, tight embrace.

"I knew it wouldn't be anything serious," he says, burying his face into Regina's neck for a brief moment, then standing up and grinning. "Is it okay if I go play video games?"

"Of course, dear," Regina smiles widely at him until he scampers from the room, then her face becomes ashen, stony and hard.

"I swear," Emma says, getting to her feet, "I'm going to kill Neal when I next see him."

"Not if I beat you to it," Regina growls, and for a moment they both clench their fists and stare at one another before the absurdity of it all gets to them and they burst into near-hysterical guffaws. It's a short moment of relief before Regina leans back in her chair, pressing a hand to her chest as her laughter dies down. She looks Emma up and down with darkening eyes before she heaves a great sigh and shakes her head.

"What are we going to do?" she says quietly and Emma can see consternation passing like clouds over the planes of Regina's face.

"Maybe we should talk about things," Emma says, and holds up her hand as Regina's eyes widen and her mouth opens to protest. "Not to Henry…not yet. But maybe to, you know, each other?"

It might be the opportunity Regina's been waiting for; the chance she denied herself in the past. But even as she yearns for the sanctity that could lie in the green eyes fixed on her face, it's fear that rises up and smothers courage. Grasping her napkin, Regina wrings it between her hands before placing it carefully by the side of her bowl. Then she stands, fighting the urge to take Emma in her arms, to inhale the scent of the other woman's hair and to savor the taste of her lips.

"No," she says sharply. "There's nothing to talk about."


	6. 6 - Heart And Soul Will Burn

**6 – Heart And Soul Will Burn**

"Holy sh…oh god…stop…no – **don't **stop…"

Emma's done trying to form complete sentences as her synapses sputter and her brain short circuits a little. She can quite literally feel the way all her nerve endings crackle and snap as she strains towards Regina's mouth and hands. They're meant to be going over the Sheriff's budget but all that's happening is that Regina's fingers are going over Emma's throat, over her neck, bumping past a clavicle and making their way downwards to tug at the buttons on her shirt.

"…taste so good…" Regina is murmuring but her voice is muffled as she sucks on the fluttering pulse point just below Emma's ear. The tip of her tongue circles down to the slope of Emma's shoulder and she reaches up, pushing aside the emerald green shirt there and baring her teeth. By the time she's biting at flesh, Emma is whining and writhing under her touch and Regina shoves her even more firmly back against the wall of her office.

"You'll leave marks," Emma forces out thickly, then swallows with a gulp as she realizes she doesn't really care. It's odd, actually, how much she doesn't really care about anymore; she swore she'd never get caught up in this again and god knows, she hasn't felt this way since she was a teenager and believed that happy endings existed. Or, at least, she'd been fooled into thinking that they did by the charms of a scruffy itinerant who had made her feel less lonely, less out of place and less like the young woman she'd been molded into by a system that rejected her.

That's what it's always been about, in the end: not fitting in. And rejection had come almost the instant she was born, when her parents had decided that her best chance was not with them. Ironic that she'd done the exact same thing with Henry, then. Even more ironic that the one person who's caused all of this separation is now the one person who _doesn't_ reject her. If anything, Regina's become one of the mainstays of her life.

Emma can't tell anyone, of course. And she _absolutely_ can't tell Regina. It doesn't matter what Henry says or suspects – Emma understands that when it comes to affairs of the heart, Regina's far more skittish and wary of losing herself to feeling than Emma is.

It's why Emma's letting Regina take what she wants – what she needs, even – whenever she wants it. But it would be easy to put this all down to a simple act of charity; patronizing in the extreme to imagine that _that's_ what this is. All Emma knows is when Regina approaches with that hungry gleam in her eyes, there's very little to do other than offer herself up as the spoils of a war that Regina's fighting with herself.

Emma groans as Regina's fingertips slide beneath her bra and pinch her nipple hard, sending another wave of morse code-like sensation dotting and sparking through her body. It's not like she isn't getting anything out of it, either. And even if she _does_ have a hero complex – which her father informs her she gets from him in that proud, teary way he has of trying to engender some sort of familial bond between them – then Emma knows that when she's with Regina, terms like "hero" and "villain" are moot. When it's just them, they're nothing to anyone but each other. Acts of heroism are found in the grace they're willing to offer in the form of hands, tongue, teeth, lips.

Ever since they did magic together, there's been a lingering backwash of emotion passing between them. Sometimes Emma wonders if these sexual liaisons are their way of trying to recreate the magic, or maybe just a way of assuaging what burgeoned between them when they were caught up in a swathe of enchantment. Either way, the physicality has become more than just sex. More than just snatching and grabbing at a human contact both of them have sorely missed. It's something they need now; something they can't do without, no matter how many times they've both insisted they can.

"…off…" Regina is whispering in Emma's ear, "…take them off…"

Her hands have wandered lower to rest on the waistband of Emma's jeans and Regina leans back, staring into green eyes that she's seen alight with the essence of power. Right now they're shining with unspent passion that resonates and burns greedily in the pit of Regina's stomach. Nobody's ever really wanted her like this; not since worlds were cursed and queens were broken. Graham and all the others were cold comfort but Emma…well, Emma is more than a simple conquest. With Emma, Regina has started to hope that there's something beyond the way they clutch at each other, something that might actually quell the aching in her chest and obliterate the bleak years ahead that was all she saw after the curse ended.

"I said, take them **off**, Sheriff Swan," Regina says sharply, plucking at the button on Emma's jeans.

Emma can't help laughing and it comes out high-pitched, a little hysterical. "Sheriff Swan?" she echoes, eyebrows rising. "Can you **be** any more distant, Regina? I mean…really. Awkward much? Come on."

She laughs again but she can already tell from the way Regina takes a step back that she's said too much. There's nothing the erstwhile Mayor detests more than being ridiculed. And even if that wasn't Emma intent, it's what lingers between them for a second until Regina's mouth hardens and she folds her arms over her chest.

"Come on, **what**?" Regina bites at the words, then bares her teeth in a mirthless smile. "Oh, please," she continues, pressing a melodramatic hand to her chest, "don't tell me you're actually trying to suggest that this entire thing isn't awkward in the extreme?"

Emma sighs inwardly, pulling at her clothes and shaking her head as Regina spins on her heel and stalks away across the office. By the time she's shoved her shirt back into her pants, Emma's feeling that knot of anxiety in her gut that is mirrored by Regina's stiff posture and the way she leans against her desk, fingers grasping the edge of it so hard that her knuckles are turning white.

"This entire thing," Emma repeats slowly. "And by that, you mean…?"

Regina rolls her eyes and looks away. She should have known better than to hope. _Stupid_, she chides herself; stupid for ever believing that such a thing might exist for _her_. And with the child of her sworn enemy, too. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Out of the question.

"You gonna talk to me or are you just going to continue having that conversation inside your head?" Emma asks, sauntering across the office with a confidence she doesn't really feel. As Regina glares at her, she shrugs and comes to a halt in front of the other woman.

"I can tell when you're arguing with yourself," Emma says gently. "I can see everything that's going on inside there." She reaches up and brushes her fingers across Regina's forehead, half expecting the other woman to jerk away. When she doesn't, and when there's a sheen of panic that enters Regina's eyes, Emma smiles and wonders if this is the beginning. It so very often feels like it should be the end that she's pretty sure they're both long overdue for the start of something good.

"I'm not – I wasn't – " Regina is unusually lost for words and whether it's Emma's proximity or the truth fairly bursting to get out of her, she can't quite bring herself to enter into a denial. Her nails scrape on the underside of her desk and she feels the hard edge of it cutting into her buttocks as Emma cocks her head onto one side expectantly.

"It's Henry, isn't it?" Emma says, pursing her lips. "Gotta say, I keep thinking about it too. The kid's got a point, though."

"Oh? About what?"

"About fairytales. About the fact that we shouldn't be together. About just wanting everyone to be happy."

Regina closes her eyes but she can feel Emma's presence in front of her like an oncoming storm: heavy, cloying, wrapping itself around her and keeping her in place. She wants to move away from it – away from Emma - but she knows she won't. The time for that has been and gone and now there's only closeness. Her stomach dips as she realizes that Emma has become, quite simply, a habit she no longer wants to break. And she wonders if that's how love starts: not with a clap of thunder and a strike of lightning, but rather with the gathering of clouds until they too, must burst and rain emotion down over her until she's drenched in it.

"Those things," she says quietly, opening her eyes and meeting Emma's steady gaze, "have been put into Henry's head by that idiot you call his father."

"Believe me," Emma rolls her eyes and lets out a bark of laughter, "over the last few days, I've called Neal a lot of things and none of them were remotely close to 'idiot' or 'father'. It'll be a while before he thinks it's a good idea to have an unexpressed thought in front of Henry. Or you. Or me. Or anyone."

"Am I to assume that's an act of chivalry on your behalf?" Regina muses, half-mocking.

"If you think I'm some kind of Princess Charming, then sure," Emma shrugs. "Or you could put it down to the fact that nobody gets to talk about you and me except…well, you and me."

"I see," Regina says. "Thank you."

"Yeah, sure," Emma's nostrils flare and her eyes narrow as she shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and scuffs her boot on the floor. "Except we **don't**, do we?"

Regina frowns and Emma sighs heavily. "Talk. You and me. We don't talk. About us."

"And what would you have me say?" Regina blurts, her breath hitching just enough to give Emma some hope, some sort of clue that she's not alone in this. That what she feels for and about this insufferable, supercilious, demanding, incredibly intoxicating woman is real and not something she's made up to fill the void that her entire life has hollowed out inside her.

Emma shrugs. "Anything would be a start. Unless you want to ignore it again as usual and push me back up against the wall. You know, finish what you started?"

"Are you being deliberately provocative or have you merely reverted to type again, Sheriff?" Regina is at once offended and on the attack. She rises up from her desk and glowers at Emma because the last thing she wants is to appear vulnerable, even if that's how she feels every time the blonde gets close to her. It's a by-product of emotion; it's a necessary evil. And for someone who's had so much evil running through her veins and shaping her life with a vicious, unforgiving hand, Regina hates that once more a power much greater than she is has her heart grasped in an iron fist.

Emma puffs out her cheeks, weighing up the odds of entering into the fray and how wounded she might be this time. It's an old fight, this back and forth with Regina. She keeps expecting that her battle scars will be too painful, too tender for her to make yet another parry. But she can't retreat; she's just not sure what victory looks like anymore.

"I see that your parents' irritating habit of sharing and debating everything is rubbing off on you," Regina comments. "Tell me, dear, when has talking accomplished **anything**? I would have thought you might understand by now that I'm a doer. If you want to **talk**," she emphasizes the word to give it the disdain it deserves, "you may find it easier to do over hot chocolate and home-baked cookies with your mother."

She's sneering now and the look of hurt that crosses Emma's face is what Regina wanted. But seeing it puts an echoing, empty feeling in her chest. Winning was always so important to her – it was what she strived and cursed and yearned for. But this isn't a win, Regina thinks to herself, watching carefully as Emma pushes a hand through her hair and half-turns away. In fact, if she won't – _can't_ – say the things that burn inside her, then it might be one of the biggest losses she'll ever experience.

"Well, I guess that clears **that** up, then," Emma mutters, glancing back at Regina. "This – us – it's just something you do. **I'm **just something you do."

Regina is silent because if she opens her mouth now; if she gives voice to what's racing around her veins and head and every cell of her body, then she might unfold all the secrets of her bruised and aching heart.

"Good enough for a fuck but not much more, right?" Emma jerks her chin forwards, eyes glittering with unshed tears. "This magic," she spits, looking down at her hands, fingers bent like claws, "that we share is a crock of shit. It doesn't mean a thing, does it? It's just like Henry said – the fairytales don't mean anything, not really. When it comes down to it, there's no such thing as a happy ending and magic's just a lie to make you have false hope."

Her voice cracks and she shakes her head, angry with herself for being the one to stupidly put her faith into something that doesn't even exist. She half-blames her mother for feeding her stories where love was true and easy; she's even angry at Henry for bringing her here in the first place and for making her stay. But Regina…well, Regina's the one who makes Emma want to run and never look back. But she's also the one who makes her wonder if there's a place for people like them: broken and hurt and so alone that the mere fact they found one another in this world – in _any_ world – is a miracle in and of itself.

Emma presses her lips together and swallows; her throat prickles, aches and burns like it's got razor blades in it. And she can feel her heart shredding into pieces that she'd only just begun to put together into some sort of cohesive shape.

"I change – I mean, I **have** changed."

Regina's voice stops Emma as she turns to head to the couch where her jacket lies, thrown haphazardly across the cushions.

"And I don't know if it's the magic or whether it's – whether it's – "

Emma covers the few feet between them in quick, eager paces and she's in Regina's space so suddenly that they both draw breath at how the air literally crackles between them.

"Whether it's what?" Emma whispers. Their eyes meet and there's an indefinable expression in that deep brown gaze, something that resonates pain into Emma's chest and she bends a little, putting her fingers beneath Regina's chin and holding it firmly.

"Talk," she says. A command. A request. An entreaty.

"I tried to stop it," Regina begins hesitantly, and she clears her throat, a flush rising up her neck as Emma lets go of her chin. "I didn't want to feel this way."

"What way?" Emma urges gently, and the air seems to still, pocketing them in a confessional space.

Regina swallows. "When you touch me, I feel my shape begin to change under your fingertips." She punctuates her sentence with a gasp and she's utterly, completely laid bare.

"Change into what?"

"Something good." It's such a little word. Such an irrevocable, surprising, tempting change. "Someone good enough."

"Regina…" Emma says her name like she has done so many times before, only now it sounds different. Tender and grateful and everything Regina's been longing for. "You think I don't know how that feels? "

"No." Regina shakes her head. "I think you know **exactly** how that feels, and that's why I'm…it's why I'm afraid." She laughs, a tiny, brittle sound. Then she reaches out and places her palm against Emma's cheek.

"Me too," Emma says. "But that's why I know it's good. It's good enough, you know? More than, actually. I don't know anything about being a mom and it scares me half to death until I see you and Henry and I just feel like…I feel like it's okay. Like we're family. Like that's what we deserve or that's how it's meant to be and…and that's a good feeling, isn't it?"

She tilts her head, leaning into Regina's touch and draws closer until she can feel the other woman's breath on her cheek. Emma's lips brush against the curve of Regina's ear and she finds herself encircled in arms that hold her more closely than she has any right to expect.

"It's gonna be okay," she murmurs, and is surprised to hear Regina laugh against her neck.

"Oh? And is the Savior imbued with second sight as well as magic?" Regina asks in a low voice that drips down Emma's body, liquid and heavy. And she knows that she'll never really want to stop Regina conquering her. Maybe there's victory in defeat, after all.

"Nah," Emma chuckles and puts her arms around Regina, "but I figured it was the right thing to say. I hear that's what couples do for each other."

"Couples?" Regina echoes, drawing back so that she can look into Emma's eyes. "So this is…is that what we are?"

Emma screws up her face and shrugs as Regina narrows her eyes. "The Savior and the Evil Queen," she remarks to Emma, a dubious tone in her voice. "Henry said we're not meant to be together. Fairytales say we're not meant to be together. What on earth are your parents going to say? Or the entire town, for that matter?"

"Well," Emma leans forwards and plants a gentle kiss onto Regina's cheek, "Henry's gonna deal. Fairytales can kiss my ass and, as for my parents, well…they and the entire town just have to readjust their attitude and understand a few realities."

"Which are?" Regina hums, her hands splaying out on Emma's back.

"That you're the mother of my son. That we're connected through more than magic. And that you're **my** queen, so if anyone messes with you…"

"You'll turn them to ash?" Regina's eye glint wickedly and she's appeased to see Emma roll her eyes in response.

"I was thinking more that I'd kick their ass and throw them in jail but…yeah, whatever."

"How simply terrifying of you," Regina comments sardonically as Emma's teeth nibble on her earlobe.

"Regina," Emma whispers, pulling the other woman even closer, the tiny noise of contentment she hears pasting a smile across her lips, "you can stop talking now."


End file.
